The Seneschal and the Island
by Ser Savan
Summary: The Seneschal senses the sudden arrival of a malevolent islet in his domain, the only sensible course of action is to explore this uncharted location and meet with its brooding master... (AKA: One-shot starring Savan and Salde and their exploits within Bitterblack Isle before the Arisen has had the pleasure. ) (Warnings: Blood / violence)


The Seneschal and the Island

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_A one-shot in which Savan goes to Bitterblack Isle… for fun. _

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There could be absolutely no denying that the sudden arrival of the uncharted island, off the coast of Cassardis, was intended to pique the interest of those sensitive to it. Most of all, it was intended as a challenge to a particular person; certain overseer. Savan could not help but regard it with an amused grin, Salde on the other hand seemed infinitely more apprehensive.

"I ill like the look of that island, master. It bears a hateful malice…"

"Almost bitter, no?" Savan chuckled to himself; Salde never fully understood his master's humour, but that did not discourage the Seneschal from making the odd quip.

"Err… yes. Quite. So, master, what shall we do today? I'm sure there are many duties that require your attendance."

"We'll be going to that isle."

"Ah a wise choi—going? To that isle, master?" Salde looked thoroughly dumbfounded. It was clearl that the pawn had assumed his master would not risk venturing out to the cursed islet, not when he oversaw an entire world and had many duties to be focused upon.

"Why not?" Was the simple reply, when that failed to satisfy Salde, he elaborated; "'Tis an obvious cry for attention from little Ashe and who am I to deny him an audience? Besides, leaving a foe such as he unchecked is pure folly. I'll not risk this world being completely consumed by his tantrum. I see he's already tormented other worlds in order to manifest such an island here…"

"Oh." Salde nodded enthusiastically, "I see! So… we should make sure the master of that island does not pose a threat to others…?"

"Indeed." Savan stood from his throne and made a languid gesture over the rippling floor of his chambers. The gloom swirled like liquid and parted to form a portal, which transported him along with Salde.

The makeshift 'port' where the two materialised was shabby, to put it kindly, and offensively decrepit, to be less polite. Salde surveyed the immediate area hesitantly and commented that; 'many folk were turned away by the choppy sea and the vicious winds, whilst many more were turned away simply by the daunting aura that surrounded the jagged crags'. Such discarded folk were likely to be people without tie to the dragon and, thus, useless to the Isle's 'master' and his plans. Or, that was Savan's guess.

He walked along the rotting planks of the dock and stopped in front of a pair of tightly closed doors that were taller than himself and Salde combined.

Salde looked up at the massive doors and then to Savan, "'Tis locked master. Surely we'll need a key?"

"Nay, Salde." A slow smile spread over his lips, "'Tis a door that only opens at its masters beck and call. We'll not find a key to fit it, lest we were to pull the master's tongue here and shove it through the keyhole."

"Then… how do we enter?"

Savan turned and looked towards a corner of the cove where a decaying billboard stood. He walked over and reached around behind it. There was a squeak of shock as, with a tug, he produced a young woman from behind the decayed timber. "Well met, girl. You're the 'gatekeeper' are you not?"

"… You… you knew I was here?" the girl looked utterly astounded. She had taken obvious efforts to hide her presence from these new intruders.

"Aye. You cannot hide yourself from my eyes, girl."

"Then… you must be the World Steward?!" she looked up suspiciously, her eyes appraising his face and his general deportment.

He nodded, "That I am. Now, open this gate. I'd have a word with your lord."

"Please…" her voice bore a helpless tone as she pleaded, "Won't you return to your domain?"

"I'm afraid I will not."

Seeing that the Seneschal was unmoved by her appeal, the young woman, who introduced herself as 'Olra', nodded hesitantly and gestured to the door. It creaked open with a long groan and exposed an epitaph, which concealed a short corridor behind its loftiness.

"Go then." Olra whispered, "Go beyond the epitaph and towards the sanctum, World Steward… I'm sure he will guide your steps."

"My thanks, girl." Savan gave a curt nod and walked briskly away from the child and her billboard, Salde trailed behind him.

They passed the epitaph, as Olra instructed, and entered an airy corridor that was, at that particular moment, plagued by several large monsters. The creatures were speaking in goblin-tongue, yet they were larger than the hobgoblins and Grimgoblins that the Seneschal was used to crafting.

"Hmm. A bastardization of my Grimgoblins, eh? How very resourceful of you, Ashe." Savan walked through the creatures, undisturbed. They could not see him unless he allowed them to, and such things as goblins were not worth his time. He left them to snore and scratch their behinds in ignorant bliss.

"'Tis called the 'Garden of Ignominy'." Salde said, almost cheerfully, as he held a piece of parchment and studied it with curiosity. The map the pawn held outlined more of the garden's geography with each step he took alongside his master.

After a brisk march, they arrived in a central courtyard where an impressive statue stood proud with its cloak of enchanting moonlight and amongst sporadic weeds. Strewn around the square were several lazing goblins and a gorechimera. The lion-head was busily washing it pelt, an act which seemed to aggravate its goat-headed twin. The goat bleated and nipped at the leonine muzzle, ensuing in a squabble between the two. The hulking beast's body began to roll around on the floor as the lion argued and the goat whined.

In the midst of the Chimera's personal quarrel several goblins were crushed under the creature's impressive weight. Savan noted that the deceased goblins began to decay much quicker than they would in Gransys. As the Seneschal mused, Salde saw fit to poke the gruesome pile of offal with his sword.

"What manner of trickery is this?" he asked.

"Stop poking it," Savan muttered, "'Twould seem the rotting process is accelerated here, but to what end I wonder…?"

The answer came almost immediately after the question as several immense wolves materialised from a gloomy fog and began to feast on the entrails. They paid the squabbling Chimera no heed, despite it offering a far more plentiful supply of meat, they were utterly fixated on the decomposed goblins.

"What is this? They feed on the dead?!" Salde looked horrified, but was unable to pry his eyes away from the feeding beasts.

"Seems these beasts are something of an added test, I presume they are here to catch weakened Arisen unawares. Quite devious, I must say." Despite being mildly impressed by Ashe's cunningness, the Seneschal was also keen to show the whelp, and his curs, a lesson; "What say you to a battle, Salde?"

"Do we have to?"

Savan laughed, dismissing his cloak of invisibility, "Aye, we do!" with a roar he dashed forward and drove his blade into the closest mongrel. The hulking wolf whined in shock and curled its body up into a crescent shape it was hurled across the courtyard. The other two lupines looked up, startled, and readied themselves to attack. With a collective roar, louder than a pack of Hellhounds, they descended upon the World Steward and his pawn.

Both wolves seemed focused on Savan, possibly because he seemed more animated than Salde, or more likely following some unspoken order from their master. They snapped their grizzly jaws at him as he held them off with his shield, "Master!" Savan could hear Salde shouting amidst the chaos.

The pawn bashed his sword against his shield and shouted, which distracted the beasts. This gave Savan time to launch a Trail of Light at all three of the creatures. The trio were swept up in the wave of holy light and thrown violently against an adjacent wall, with a wet crunch.

Moments later each beast slid down and promptly decomposed into gory mush at the wall's base.

"… Please master.. don't do anything reckless." there was an implied _again_ at the end of Salde's statement that made Savan chuckle.

"My apologies, Salde. I was merely curious to see what Ashe's pets were made of… worthless entrails t'would seem."

"Well… you are what you eat, Master."

"Indeed you are. Now, let us press onward."

However, as Savan sheathed his blade, he felt a queer tension in the air behind him. He felt the very atmosphere begin to swirl and ripple as a menacing new threat made its arrival. Salde pointed and the Seneschal followed his pawn's gesture to see, floating mid-air, a shadowy, faceless figure swathed in black robes with a glowing lantern and a foreboding scythe. It lifted its lantern and shined sickly yellow light in Savan's face, Salde stepped forward and rose his shield protectively.

The robed figure whispered, in hushed and rusty tones, "World…. Ssssteward…."

There was a timbre in the rusted vocals that resonated with Savan, "That voice… Aye… I've heard you before." he mused and folded his arms, "Were you not Arthacos, pleading to the 'Maker' for the revival of your lost countrymen and doomed homeland?"

The word 'Arthacos' seemed to strike the shadowy foe like a blast arrow; it started to tremble, seemingly in pain, "Noooo…!" it groaned, "Nooo…! Not… Arthacos… not I! I am death, yes… I am the reaper …" then, it lifted its scythe as if it had been reinvigorated, "Yessss…! I'll bargain with the dragon… your soul… must be worth ten times what I owe!"

"Master! That scythe looks well grim!"

"Well yes, Salde,. 'Tis the Grim Reaper after all. Still, I'll wager we can have him."

"Perhaps we should just flee?"

"I'm no craven…" Savan redrew his sword and smiled at Death, "Well met, Arthacos. I'll have you know my soul is not something I'm keen to part with just yet. Not 'till I meet an Arisen of worth and conclude my duties…"

With a strangled scream of fury, Death swung its scythe in a wide arch, however, Savan had disappeared the moment the scythe neared his neck. A moment later, he was behind the reaper and a Trail of Light had struck the bundle of rags directly in the back. It fell from its elevated position and hit the floor with a gasp. Salde ran over and started to strike with sword and shield, "'Tis grounded!" The pawn declared, mid onslaught.

The Seneschal walked, slowly, towards Death and looked at the pitiable pile of rags. It was clear that this former Arisen was tormented by madness and false promises, he almost felt sorry for it. "Poor misguided Arthacos…" his words were spoken softly to the fallen rags, "I'll unbind you from this false existence, and return you to the cycle."

"NOOO!" the reaper's voice echoed across the courtyard at a great volume as it picked itself up and disappeared into the same murky vortex that had brought it before the Seneschal.

Savan sheathed his sword, again, and rejoined Salde, "Perhaps we'll meet him along the way."

"… This pawn sincerely hopes not!"

They left the Garden of Ignominy shortly after the encounter with Arthacos and found themselves stood before a grand tower, which was encircled by vivid deep blues and soft silvers as the moonlight spilt around it.

"Quite a sight." Savan said, as he looked up at the tranquil night. Unlike the previous garden, this place was peaceful and the fields below were filled with woodland creatures.

"'Tis called the 'Duskmoon Tower', master."

"Duskmoon…" Savan looked away from the structure as something moved along the balcony and caught his eye: The source of the movement was a middle aged man with straw-coloured blonde hair and a shifty face, partially concealed behind a modest moustache. "Another Arisen, t'would seem…"

"A bit rude to talk about people in plain view, that." The man grinned, "Then again I'd like as do the same if I was a God."

At first Savan assumed he had dropped his invisible cloak by accident, but he quickly realised he had not, "You see me, then?"

"Aye. I was something of a prodigy as a lad, showed much talent for the blessed arts… well, that's what me old mum used to say to anyone that gave her barmy rantings a listen. In truth, I've just found the odd divine trinket here and there, one of which has given me the less than useful ability to see wandering World Stewards…" the blonde then bowed, "Barroch, merchant, blacksmith, apothecary, sort-of-Arisen."

"Barroch… " Savan repeated, it was not a name he was familiar with so he assumed this must be an Arisen from one of the 'many worlds' the pawns spoke of, "I doubt you receive much trade in these rotting halls."

"Oh I've never done it for profit. That said, I still amass gold and the rift's crystalline bounty more for fun than aught else… It's not a trade if I do it for free and I've never been one for charity. You'd be surprised how many stumble in here and desperately throw their money; their clothes - even their bodies - at me for a potion or two once their stocks have run dry..." there was a distinctly unpleasant grin that accompanied the mention of 'bodies'.

Savan offered a wry smile to the 'sort-of-Arisen's' words, "Sadly for you, I'll be keeping my clothes and—"

"Your virginity intact?" Barroch inserted, with a snigger.

"What manner of ill mouthed knave is this?" Salde whispered, in disgust.

"Peace, Salde. Such base insults would ne'er be enough to affront me." Savan looked at his pawn, reassuringly; then returned his gaze to Barroch, "I imagine we'll meet again."

"Yes I'm sure we will," Barroch leaned against a pillar and folded his arms, "Nice getting acquainted with you, World Steward."

They left the blonde and descended a crumbling staircase towards the field of grass where several deer were gambolling. The creatures did not flee upon seeing Savan, perhaps out of some understanding that he had created their like and had no reason to kill them. Salde pulled out the map and reviewed it; he pointed towards a door that was locked by an odd security device, "'Tis locked…"

"Hmmm. I get the impression Ashe is less than keen to meet with me. Mayhaps he's hoping I'll die before he has to face me himself?" The World Steward stroked his chin thoughtfully as he looked at the portcullis.

The floor beneath them rumbled, which caused the wildlife to quickly scatter. A booming voice echoed through out the space, "World Steward. You are come."

"Ashe." Savan replied, with a small smile, "Indeed. I am here."

"You would dare to step foot in this place after all you have done to me?"

"Are you still playing the victim? 'This place' and your curse are but crafted from your own design."

Once more the earth shook, "World Steward you try my patience. If you would seek an audience with me, then delve deep into my isle and find me."

"Hide and seek, is it? I have little interest in children's games…"

"… You'll not be hindered by locks, but I am keen to see whether you can handle my servants. If they best you, then I'll know you were never worth my time."

Savan felt somewhat irked at being judged by the little upstart, but a part of him, something savage and long-buried, was keen to test his own mettle against the new beasts that Ashe had prepared. It served no purpose to leave the isle unexplored, "Very well, Ashe. Watch well from your pit, I shall show you what felled Grette."

Once more the earth trembled, this time more violently, "You shall not speak her name!" Then, the presence was gone and the door before Savan opened.

"… That was the master of this place?" Salde asked as they entered the doorway.

"Aye, he refused the Dragon's bargain and to claim his right as Arisen… In so doing, I cursed him. Well, I enabled Grigori to curse him, though the Dragon's Arisen-body did try to intercept..."

"Oh." Salde nodded, "Then… he wants revenge?"

"Aye." Savan smiled, but the gesture lacked any mirth, "I've pushed him to the absolute extremities of his huamnity and now we will get to see how his hatred has manifested…"

They entered the less-than-inviting 'Vault of Defiled Truths' and descended deeper into the isle's bowels. Savan was disinterested in the goblins, sirens and cockatrices that littered the courtyard. These were either mimics of his own creations, or worthless bastardizations that did not warrant his effort or his steel.

Instead, he could feel something deeper within the dungeon: a creature that exuded an impressive magical aura. An aura that most had most likely, at one time or another, belonged to a sorcerer of impressive magical capabilities. He wondered just what form such a sorcerer would have taken after languishing in the grim bowls of the twisted island.

After passing through the 'Gutter of Misery', which turned out to be a dismal sewer filled with stagnant water and waterlogged corpses, Savan arrived at the Shrine of Futile Truths. He walked into the circular tower-like structure and closed his eyes. He could sense it: The magical presence was nearby, its aura resounded around the tower like the roar of a thunderstorm.

"M-Master!" Salde cried, pointing towards the roof, "It's… a giant eye?!"

Savan looked upwards and saw an eyeball, far larger than the Evil Eyes he crafted from wayward mages, looking down at him. Other than its size, it bore many similarities to the Evil Eyes on the continent, "So. You're a wayward mage…"

"World Steward." Replied the eye, in a deeply warped tenor, "You are not of my world… but then, nor am I in my world any longer…"

"Ah. Another Arisen, then."

"Indeed. I saw immortality as the ultimate boon. What better fate than to study in the innards of ancient libraries for all time? I had absorbed much knowledge, yet, I grew hungry for more and more. I still thirst for greater arcane power… perhaps that is something to be gained from consuming a Seneschal?"

"… Perhaps it is, not that you'll get the chance today."

"Hahahaaa.. What good is your pathetic sword and shield against me?" the lips that surrounded the eye curled upwards in a disquieting grin, "You're no threat to me… Nor is your pathetic little pawn."

"We'll see." Savan gripped the hilt of his sword and looked to Salde, "Deal with those tentacles, would you?"

"Of course, Master!" Salde ran over to a cluster of tentacles that were fervently casting spells in a corner of the shrine and struck at them to disrupt their incantations.

Meanwhile, Savan walked towards the edge of the spiralling hallway where the eyeball hung mid-air. He descended on to an outcropping that had formed from the roots of a large tree and walked ever closer to the eyeball. The eye regarded him, its pupil dilating as it scrutinized him, "You are puny. I would have expected God to be cut from a more imposing figure than this. You'll make for an easy meal…"

"I'll not apologise for disappointing you, creature. I'm not here for your visual satisfaction or to match up to your expectations." The Seneshcal pointed his sword towards the eye, "Nor am I your meal."

The eye loomed out of its socket and bore down at Savan, the lips that framed it were murmuring ardently as the tentacles atop its carapace swayed and incanted in unison with it.

Savan watched for a few moments, as the beast to muttered and mumbled, before he rose his blade and swung it with both hands gripped tightly on the hilt. The sharp edge connected with the outstretched eyeball, the force of the blow knocked the creature from its position mid-air to the other side of the tower. It fell from the indentation it had made in the fragile stonework and rolled along the floor a few feet. The creature was stunned for a few moments, groaning in pain, before the eye recovered and slid back inside its sanctum. It looked up towards the world steward with a furious snarl.

"I'll turn you to stoneeee!" It howled as light burned brightly from the depths of its pupil. There was a sudden flash and both Savan and Salde were consumed in the glare. Savan shielded his eyes and cursed himself for being caught off guard; he could sense that the light contained several intricate curses, which were meant to debilitate. Despite his elevated status as Seneschal, he was not beyond being affected by such curses. Salde had managed to hide behind a pillar and was desperately shouting for his master to join him, but Savan was already afflicted by petrifaction.

"Master! I'll find a curative!" Salde shouted, as he started to shatter the various pots and boxes that littered the shrine.

Savan smiled, though it took a long while for his muscles to comply, "I'll wager… there's no more time, Salde…."

"But master! I won't lose you!" Salde sounded fraught.

Savan closed his eyes as the petrifaction spread over his limbs and across his face. The rock-like layer tightened over his features and he fell completely still. The monsterous eye smirked triumphantly and elevated itself up towards the outcropping where the statue stood, "Hmph. Not much of a God, is he?" it mused, to itself, "No matter…"

"No.. NO!" Salde screamed at the top of his lungs, before he threw himself on to the eye and started to hack at its vulnerable sclera, "Vile fiend!"

The eye recoiled at the sharp strikes of Salde's blade, however, one of its tentacles managed to dislodge the pawn and flick him into a distant wall, "Pest!" it grumbled, before turning back to the statue. Another of its tentacles lunged forward with its jaws parted, aiming for the statue's head.

However, the beast did not meet its mark; a bright flash of light consumed the room and near-blinded the immense eyeball. When the radiance died down, the statue had disappeared. The Gazer looked around the perimeter of the room, but could not find a trace of its prey, "Where are you?!" it snapped, evidently annoyed by the turn of events.

Savan answered by driving his sword into the creature's carapace from above, "Up here."

"What?!" The eye widened and then groaned in pain as the blade plunged deeply into the thick protective shell.

"'Tis your end, beast." With a grunt of effort Savan forced the blade in deeper still and infused it with light magic. The edge shone with fiery brilliance as it cleaved open the carapace and sliced into the vulnerable eye.

The creature emitted a thunderous roar of pain as it was cleft in two, moments before it hit the floor with a wet thud and started to decompose. Savan fell to the floor of the tower and called up to Salde, "All is well Salde, stop looking so miserable."

"Master! You're back!" the pawn hurried down the staircase to join him, "'Tis welcomed relief to this pawn to see you safe!"

"My thanks, Salde." Savan turned towards a large door, "Let's make haste. I'm keen to see what else Ashe has in store…"

"Do we really have to, Master?"

Savan did not give his pawn an answer, he simply held open the door and looked over his shoulder at him. That told Salde that the answer was 'yes we have to' and so he followed after his master.

The door led them to a quiet cove that was blessedly devoid of monsters.

"Still alive, then?" Barroch called from a small campsite.

"Ah. The sex starved merchant. You're still alive?" Savan retorted.

"Why do you look so surprised? I've been in this here place a long time, got good at hiding and avoiding trouble I have."

"Quite." The Seneschal walked over and sat down on a small stool by the campfire, he watched the amber flames as they danced and crackled softly, "I'll take it you've managed to avoid that giant eyeball afore now, then?"

"What? The Gazer? He's not interested in my likes. Not enough meat on my bones, or magick in me blood."

"I see."

"And what of you? Did you creep by with your magic cloak?"

"No. I killed it."

Barroch seemed mildly impressed, "Killed it you say? Though, I doubt it'll stay dead a-long, even if it were a World Steward's hand what ended it. I've known the odd Arisen to bring that thing to the blade, but it always comes back. Still, I didn't have you figured for much of a fighter, in truth. Guess you're tougher than you look."

"Mayhap I am." Savan chuckled to himself. It was amusing to interact with the strange life forms that had gathered on the island, and it was even more amusing to be judged as puny and unworthy by them.

"Well I suppose you'll just go and sort out that demented man of the cloth now, then?" Barroch gave a small grin.

"There's a priest of the Faith here?" that piqued Savan's interest.

"Was. Was a priest of the Faith. Now I'd wager he believes more in necromancy than he does in Makers and all that nonsense. The Dark Bishop, well that's what I call him at least."

"I'll look forward to encountering it."

"Oh I wouldn't look forward to it, he's quite… eccentric."

"Aren't you all?" Savan asked, standing up from the campsite, "I suppose I'll see you once I'm through with him."

"More than likely."

The descent towards the Dark Bishop was relatively uneventful, the dark and winding corridors were littered with the remnants of dead Arisen and their pawns. Savan recognised none of the faces, nor had he expected to; it was clear that Ashe had been siphoning energy from other worlds in order to return to this world. These were people from other places, souls that would never return home and, unless Ashe was killed, stood no chance of returning to the cycle. They would simply stagnate in these rotting corridors, acting as nothing more than unsettling trophies of Ashe's worthless conquests.

Salde seemed relatively unmoved by the sight of the fallen Arisen's and his own comrades, no doubt another short coming of his pawn nature. He only made a point of commenting on things that were obviously offensive, such as the stench of rotting flesh.

Finally, after a solid hour of navigating the twisted underbelly of the island, the Seneschal and his pawn arrived at the Forsaken Cathedral. The moment they entered the dismal citadel, there was a strong surge of magical energy, similar to the aura that the Gazer had previously possessed, only this was tinged with holy magic.

Savan walked at a brisker pace than he had for the past hour; he was deeply curious to see this 'Dark Bishop' that Barroch had spoken of and knowing he was close only drove him onwards. Salde followed his master and they soon found a corridor that was littered with mummified corpses and rows of twinkling candles. The flickering flames were reminiscent of the votive offerings that Savan had seen made in 'his name'. In truth the tributes were made to the 'Maker', but to the Seneschal they held no deep symbolic meaning. In fact, they seemed like a waste of wax and time…

Savan walked through the corridor and down a short flight of steps towards another open air courtyard. He could see a large rotten lump in the middle of the square but there was no sign of a Bishop.

"… What is that?" Salde asked, looking at the rotting slab of flesh.

"It would appear to be a dragon." Savan commented, as he walked out of the stairwell and closer to the beast so as to inspect it.

The moment he stepped out of the stairwell and into the courtyard, the path behind him was barred by a portcullis. Sickening laughter filled the air as the dragon corpse came to life and roared its foul breath directly in Savan and Salde's faces. The pawn recoiled in disgust and complained about the stench.

Savan took little note of the foul odour and looked up as a brilliant flash of light illuminated the gloom. A figure appeared and gave a rotting grin to the Seneschal. It certainly matched the description of a Bishop; bearing a mitre atop its skeletal head, clutching a holy sceptre in one bony hand and swathed in holy vestments. Its voice rang out as though it were preaching; "The World Steward is come!"

The Bishop floated down from its elevated position so that it was eye to socket with Savan, "Yet, you come too late, oh God of fools!" its voice changed tone and it spat each word with distain, "For I have found a new God, the one true God! There is only one magic of undeniably purity in these many putrid worlds and it is the magic that animates! The magic that bestows blessed life upon the lifeless! Necromancy, Faux-God! Necromancy will save us all! I have known its blessings and I gladly grant its boon to those that would receive it. Take this beast," it gestured to the rotting dragon that now stood obediently before it, "It heeds my call and serves me well! What magic but Necromancy can grant such a blessing?"

"Enough." Savan's voice gave away no emotions, but was loud enough to cut the Bishop off mid-sermon, "I'll not listen to the inane utterances of a holy man who has lost his way."

The floating cadaver seemed visibly affronted by Savan's dismissal, it leaned forward and bellowed, "You dare dismiss my words?! You dare deny the absolution of life after death!? Faux-God you'll pay dearly when your corpse is shambling around at my behest! Go forth my pet, and slaughter this heretic!"

The corpse dragon emitted a terrible roar as it charged towards Savan and Salde. The two warriors parted ways and flanked the beast from either side, both striking in unison at the creature's rotting hide with their swords The beast seemed confused and unsure of which one to attack first. Before it could decide it was promptly defeated, Savan looked up at the bishop with a smile, "Your beast is fallen, little lost sheep. What next?"

"…" The bishop looked down at the corpse and scowled, "I am still more than capable of dealing with a Faux-God! Do not mock me!" it rose its sceptre and started to chant mid-air.

"We can't reach it!" Salde shouted, "How can we stop its incantations?!"

Savan picked up a rock from the floor and threw it, the stone sailed through te air and smacked the bishop directly in the head, knocking it out of the air. The Bishop collapsed to the floor, with a shout of surprise, in a pile of golden robes. Savan jogged towards it and made several precise strikes with his sword, Sadle copied and attacked the bishop. With a furious growl the clergyman knocked both the Seneschal and his pawn away with a blast of magic, before taking to the air once more. This time its incantations were quicker and more aggressive. It surrounded itself with a magical circle that shook and hissed with great energies.

"I ill like the look of that spell!" Salde shouted over the arcane din of the bishops chanting.

"Indeed, Sadle." Savan looked around for another rock and spied one in a corner, near the portcullis. He ran over and picked it up, but as he bent down he heard the familiar roar of the corpse dragon just behind him. When he turned to face it he noticed the bishop was gone.

"Master! The bishop! It's … inside the dragon!"

"Now behold!" boomed the bishop's voice, through the corpse dragon's rotten maw, "My unsurpassed magic!" It lifted a gaunt claw and chanted yet another spell.

Savan looked beneath him as a magic circle swirled under his feet. There was a brief pause before several tendrils of holy light raced up from under him and struck with intense fury. He bit his bottom lip and hissed in pain as the magic cut through his raiments and sliced his skin. Although as Seneschal he held a great resistance to holy magic, he was by no means immune to it. Yet, he suspected that it was his resistance that had stopped the attack from killing him. The bishop was undeniably powerful as it channelled its magic through the dragon's cadaver.

Salde dashed over and pulled out a bottle of harspud sauce, "Master! Let me apply this to your wounds!"

"There's no time for that, Sadle. We have to pacify this dragon afore it casts any more spells!" Savan charged forward and drove his sword into the dragon's mouth. The creature reared up and snarled in pain as rot and bile drizzled from its jaw.

Salde took a running jump and clung to the dragon's face, the creature shook its head wildly and spun around it circles: a failed attempt to dislodge the pawn. Whilst it was distracted with Sadle, the Seneschal took his chance and started to incant his own spell.

As the Seneschal murmured the arcane words, his body became enveloped in a golden aura. It shone brighter and fiercer with each syllable of the spell. Finally, with a commanding sweep of his hand he shouted, "Holy Furor!"

The dragon paused for a moment and craned its neck back to look at Savan, then it looked beneath it as a familiar magic circle appeared under it. There was an almost blinding flash of intense golden light, followed by lances of holy magic that tore upwards, through the dragon's flesh and into the sky. The shafts of light then arched and dove downwards, slicing more of the dragons' body. It roared and writhed in agony as the light caused its rotting scales to hiss and melt. After a few strikes, the dragon slumped forward and, at the same time, the bishop was expelled from its body. The clergyman landed on the floor in a crumpled heap. Savan walked over and placed his boot on the bishops back, "'Tis over, bishop."

"… Not to a Faux-God! Not to a pathetic creature as you!" the bishop spat bitterly, but it was clear that the skeleton no longer possessed the energy to mount a resistance.

Savan answered by driving his sword into the bishop's skull and ripping it back out, an act which pulled the skeletal head clean from its bony body. The dragon made a final, feeble roar as its immortal life was ended. The bishop's own corpse started to tremor as it was released of its immortality, though, Savan had a feeling this was merely a theatrical gesture and that like the Gazer, this 'man of the cloth' would be back in time…

Salde instantly moved to his master's side and started to pull Savan's gauntlets off so that he could treat the numerous burns the bishop's magic had inflicted. Savan chuckled, "Thank you Salde." He wanted to say _thank you mother_, but he knew such sarcasm would be lost on the pawn who would assure him he did not have the anatomy to be anyone's mother.

With his wounds treated, Savan put his gauntlets back on and gestured for Salde to follow him towards the, now open, door at the other end of the courtyard. They passed through and found themselves at yet another 'safe' cove. It was obviously similar to the 'Corridor of Emptiness' where Barroch had been waiting after the Gazer battle.

Once more, Barroch was present: this time he was sat on a tiny stool overlooking a body of water. Savan walked over and looked out over the makeshift port, "The Bishop is dead."

"So I saw." Barroch replied, he did not bother to look at Savan, he just continued to stare at the waters, "Quite impressive, that. I figured you were done for when he entered that dragon's body. That's usually the case for others that have faced that little duet."

"Any more threats I should know of?"

"No… the next one is the 'big one', as they say. It's a ways down through another sewer and more crumbling corridors, but nothing you haven't seen already… then, you'll be at the master's door."

"I see." Savan looked to Salde, "Let us press on Salde, we've already wasted more time in this hovel than I would've liked."

"Yes master." Salde started to walk towards the corridor's exit.

"Well then, I suppose this is goodbye." Barroch said, finally standing and turning to face Savan, "It has been… interesting to see how a World Steward responds to this place."

Savan smiled, "I'll admit, you've had your limited uses, Barroch, but you're still not having your way with my body."

"Pity that." Barroch grinned, "I don't have a problem dabbling in the odd tryst with the same sex."

"A 'pity' indeed, for you…. Farewell." Savan walked off after Salde, determined to confront Ashe at long last.

The final stratum of the dungeon was darker and more evocative of despair than any of the layers before it. The Seneschal couldn't help but assume that this lowest tier was a direct expression of everything that festered within Ashe: his hatred, his despair and, most powerfully of all, his desperation. The corpses that hung by chains from the ceiling and rotted along the floor, all of them were Arisen from one world, or another, and all were fuelling Ashe's darkness with their own undying despair.

"'Tis a cycle of its own." Savan muttered, more to himself than to his pawn.

"A cycle of its own, master?" Salde looked confused.

"… This place. These suffering Arisen who are all but skeletons and mummies now. They are 'dead', yet their souls remain trapped here. Locked in a cycle of despair and ne'er ending regret that, in turn, feeds Ashe and makes him all the more bitter and black."

"Bitterblack isle!" Salde looked as though he were having an epiphany.

"Well… that wasn't what I meant but, alright. I'll let you have that." Savan passed another hall of locked cells, ignoring the false promises of treasure within. He had no need of the baubles that drove treasure hunters and warriors to take such risks. Where was the use in another sword? If he needed one, he would create it.

The cells and tight halls opened out in to a small room with a waterway and two descents, one was through a broken wall and down a long tunnel that seemed to have no return. The other was tucked away in another, equally broken, wall but this one led downwards via a ladder. Salde urged Savan to take the laddered route and, despite the Seneschal's intrigue in the tortured moaning that was coming from the steep tunnel, he agreed to descend using the ladders. Salde visibly relaxed and sighted with relief.

They found themselves, as per Barroch's descriptions, in a dank waterway up to their knees in fetid black liquid. This particular sewer reeked worse than the one before it. The waters, darker and thicker than before, slid along the canals, rather than flowed. No doubt the liquid was tainted with the ichor of monster and human alike.

"… This place… 'tis wickedly cruel." Salde whispered as he stepped out of the water and on to a slime-coated pathway.

"Let us press on Salde, there is naught to gain from thinking too deeply on such matters. T'will only slow our progress."

"Yes master."

They carefully navigated the labyrinth of canals and ducts until a voice caught Savan's attention. He looked toward the arched ceiling and strained his ear to listen closer; the voice was rusty and fervent, as though filled with all of the madness of a rusted violin being scratched by an equally rusty bow. It was utterly unmistakable.

"Arthacos…" he whispered as he noticed, in the distance, the sickly glow of the yellow lantern. Arthacos was talking to himself.

"… Surely… you will forgive me…? My kith… my kin… though I have failed you all…. Who am I…? …. Why am I here?... your memory is all that persists in my mind… your smiling faces… your warm embraces…. The comfort of home…. But 'tis all naught but embers now! Dragon's fire…! Hateful… dragon's fire! … All is stolen by the damned cycle!" the sound of Arthacos's scythe screaming along the walls echoed out and caused both Salde and Savan to recoil at the sharpness of its voice, "My… kith! MY KIN! DAMN YOU…. DRAGON… DAMN YOU…. WORLD STEWARD… DAMN YOU… ACCURSED CYCLE!"

Salde covered his ears as the scythe was dragged against the walls of the Bloodless Stockade over and over in a dissonant symphony. Savan gritted his teeth at the noise, which was doing a grand job of slicing through his nerves. Eventually, after enduring the din for a few minutes, he drew his sword and stepped forward, "Arthacos!"

A hooded head looked up sharply at Savan's booming voice, "World…. Sssteward?!" Arthacos's voice scowled, "Get thee hence! … I've no desire to return to the cycle!"

"Then I will return you to it by force."

Suddenly, the reaper's lantern glowed a soft blue and a gust of pale mist permeated the area, "Noooooo!" the former Arisen screamed, at the highest timbre his rusted voice could muster.

The mist wrapped around both Salde and his master, the moment the pawn was engulfed he promptly slumped to sleep. Savan quirked an eyebrow as the fog harmlessly brushed over him, "A sleep spell, quite the useful little gimmick for slaying Arisen and their pawns..."

Arthacos's robes trembled and his scythe shuddered as he clutched the gruesome weapon tightly, "Why?!... Why doesn't … the Ssseneschal sleep!?"

"Because I do not wish it." Savan replied, matter-of-factly, "I'll not wait to find out what that scythe of yours is capable of and I'll not be a bargaining chip for your hopeless dream."

"Hopeless…?"

"Your people… your village… both are gone and lost. No doubt recycled into the cycle by now."

"No…"

"Aye. You chase a hopeless fantasy because 'tis an easier thought than accepting that your quest has ended in failure."

"NO."

"Deny as you like, Arthacos, but I have heard your voice as it pleaded to 'all merciful God' for guidance and refuge from your immediate predicament."

Arthacos shook his robed head violently "No… noo.. NOOOOO!"

Savan sighed before taking a deep breath, "Maker…. Do you hear me? 'Tis Arthacos… I may not have always prayed to you, or looked to you for guidance... but … I'm begging now, on my knees." As the World Steward spoke, his voice was a perfect mimic of Arthacos's as a young man.

The sound of the voice seemed to stun the reaper, who lowered its scythe and hung motionless in the air as though paralysed. Whilst he was dazed, Salde awoke, in a daze of his own, and hurried over to his master. The pawn then reached for his sword, with the intention of launching a counter attack, Savan placed a hand on the scabbard and stopped him, "There is no merit in fighting this one… Leave him to his misery."

"But master…"

Savan shook his head, his tone final, "We'll leave him to his memories, Salde."

"… If you wish it."

They left the 'Bloodless Stockade' and entered the 'Sparyard of Scant Mercy'. The Sparyard was a relatively simple structure, akin to a coliseum, but lacking an audience or anything in the way of entertainment. As Savan approached, he could see a figure in the middle of the arena. Upon closer inspection, he realised it to be a suit of armour that was possessed by several malevolent spirits. The Seneschal had little interest in engaging the glorified tin can for he knew Ashe was near.

A few powerful sword strikes tore the plate off of the spectre's body and a wave of light ripped the spirit itself into several fragments. Salde ran after his master who had adopted a far brisker pace as he approached two vast doors at the other end of the circular enclosure.

The doors opened and revealed a ledge which overlooked a hauntingly silent city. Savan gazed down at the city and was taken by a strong sense of nostalgia. He could recall this city being pertinent to Ashe, and Grette by extension. This was the world that Ashe had chosen to surround himself with; a ghostly remnant of a long-lost past…

"Come, Sadle. I sense no threats, so this should be a quick journey."

"Yes master!"

They travelled over the rooftops of the lifeless homes. Initially Salde seemed mortified when he destroyed a few roof tiles, but Savan assured him that no one was going to scold him for destroying the roofing of the vacant homes. The look of relief on the pawn's face was almost endearing and it elicited a small laugh from Savan. After jogging across the city, they climbed down the side of a building that overlooked a woefully thin bridge formed of natural rock. Salde commented that subcoming to a pitfall would be a costly experience and, though Savan pointed out that he could teleport out of harms way, they traversed it carefully.

The two finally stopped before two gigantic stone doors, each carved with intricate depictions of people praying to a central circle that contained a heart. The relief was clearly of some significance to Ashe and his status as Arisen, perhaps even a mockery of it The grand design and imposing presence of the entrance was profoundly apt, thought Savan, as this was clearly the 'last' door he would need to pass through.

"I sense murderous intent beyond..." Salde whispered.

"This has been a long time in its making." Savan replied, as a smile crept over his lips, "Ashe has waited patiently to meet with the murderer of his beloved master… I shan't disappoint him by leaving him without an audience."

"Master… is this truly wise?"

"Probably not." was the honest answer, and clearly not what Salde wanted to hear, "It may be folly to face such a vicious embodiment of despair and hatred, but I have my own reasons for doing this, Salde. All will become clear in the end…"

The Seneschal stepped forward and the grand doors slid open as if beckoning him inside. He strode through without hesitation and looked ahead at the inner sanctum where Ashe languished. Moonlight poured through a gaping hole in the roof and soaked the arena in silver, blue and pale green shades. The entire hall looked otherworldly, like an alien temple to a counterfeit deity. There was a noise from the furthest end of the hall and from a pile of desecrated pillars, and bones, rose an immense beast. It stood upright on thick clawed feet, its large arms folded over its chest, as it glowered down upon Savan.

"World Steward." Rumbled Ashe, showing his long fangs.

"Ashe." Savan smiled, "My. How you've grown." There was a certain mocking tone to the Seneschal's voice, but it did not seem to perturb the hulking beast.

"I am the Dark Arisen, Daimon, now." He corrected, "This power that I have amassed will bring me my revenge… I'll not stop until I make you plead for mercy."

"A bold statement. Remind me: Who are you seeking revenge for? Yourself? Grette? Grette's pawn?"

"SILENCE!" Daimon's voice bounced across every wall of his chamber and his eyes flashed vivid crimson, "I told you once, World Steward. Do no speak her name! You are not worthy to do so."

"And why is that, Ashe?"

"You killed her. You forced her to take a body of scales… made her become a puppet in your repugnant 'cycle'. Then… you arranged for me to experience the very same hell… an impossible choice and for what?! What did you gain from it?! Why do you toy with our lives so!?"

The Seneschal folded his arms as Daimon raved and once the demonic form had stopped shouting, he offered him a cold smile, "You want to know why? You want to know the reasons I had for slaughtering your beloved master, subjugating her will and transforming her flesh?"

"Yes."

"Very well, but you'll not like the answer." Savan shrugged, "Because I could."

".. What?"

"Your master came to my hall, filled with abrasive confidence. Nay, arrogance. She presumed herself to be the one to defeat me and claim my throne. Unfortunately, I did not share her zeal. Her spirit lacked the necessary temperament to assimilate with the cycle and I would not risk this world, which I have so carefully tended, to the care of a blood thirsty savage."

"….Savage…?" Daimon's vast shoulders trembled and his wings shuddered, "A savage is she?! What of you?! You are the true barbarian amongst us! Playing with the lives of countless Arisen; as though they were naught but chess pieces for your sick sense of amusement!"

"Aren't you? I'll grant you, the Arisen are not pawns, but I'd say you're all knights and bishops at the least."

"You dare to mock me?"

"Oh, I'm not mocking you, Ashe. This is merely the cold truth of the world in a rather compact metaphor. I've no sympathy for you or your plight. Your master failed at the last hurdle and paid the ultimate price for her overconfidence. Her fate was no different to the others who have come to my chambers and fallen by my sword. In the end, my abilities surpassed hers. As for you, rather than face the gauntlet I had prepared, you fled. You encountered the dragon, filled with rage and revenge, but submitted to weakness when you realised the truth of it. I cursed you to this unenviable fate to teach you a harsh lesson about responsibility. You are an example," Savan's eyes were cold as he regarded the seething beast, "You've had a long while to think well on your circumstances, yet you persist in avoiding the truth of the matter. Your own short comings, your own weak will, led you to this point Ashe. Not I. Not the Cycle. Not forces beyond your control: All of this is you, the ugliest manifestation of a weak willed cur."

"… World Steward... you'll not leave this place alive! I will bury you!" Daimon flexed his wings outward and roared to the moonlit skies. The pillars dotted around the hall shuddered and rocked unsteadily as the island's master dived head-first into battle.

"You've been watching all this time." Savan said, as he drew his sword and readied his shield, "Let me see if you've learned aught…"

"I swear... for Grette! For Olra! I'll have your head, Seneschal!"

The Seneschal quickly discovered that Daimon was swift, despite his size, and highly capable with claws and magic alike. The beast was quick to cast spells with mere gestures, from ice to fire, and it seemed he his conjuration abilities were greatly enhanced from the weak Arisen he had once been. Perhaps it was because Ashe was in the depths of his own domain, Savan thought, this mockery of a throne room would be the very 'seat' of Daimon's strength. The Seneschal then realised that Daimon had planned well for this moment and had sought to estrange the World Steward within the dark depths of his domain. This was as far away from the seat of his own power, the Seneschal's throne, as he could be.

"Very clever, Daimon." Savan muttered as he blocked a punch with his shield, "But even this will not be enough."

"We'll see how talkative you are after I've pulled out your tongue!" the hulking beast retorted as he swung a clawed hand forward and gripped Savan around the waist. He lifted him up and stared down, "I'll fill you with the same pain you've exposed me, my beloved and my mother to."

"Master!" Salde grabbed Daimon's forearm and started to slash at the tree trunk-like wrist.

The behemoth hissed and dropped Savan, shaking his wrist to dismiss the pain, "Your servant is an annoyance!" a large hand swatted Salde several feet across the arena and into a pillar, which promptly shattered and fell on top of the pawn.

Savan frowned, "Salde!" But the pawn did not reply. The Seneschal looked up moments before Daimon aimed another punch for him, he dodged the strike and teleported away from the beast to the pile of rubble where Salde was, "Salde?"

A hand reached up from the debris and a voice followed, "Forgive me master, I've hindered your progress and caused you unnecessary worry."

"Dolt." Savan shot back as he hauled the pawn up, "You're many things, but you're not a hindrance… usually."

Salde gave an emotionless smile and picked up his sword from the floor, "Shall we finish this, master?"

"Aye. I've much that requires my attention this day and wasting it all on Ashe is something I'm loathed to do."

With renewed vigour, the Seneschal and his pawn stood to face the Dark Arisen. Ashe seemed suitably unimpressed by the two fighters as he summoned several spears of ice to attack them. Salde sliced two frosty spines before they could touch his master, whilst Savan dashed forward and swung his blade at Daimon's midriff. He noted, with curiosity, that Ashe took great efforts to avoid the strike. To the point that he brought his arms in front of his chest and took the attack directly.

"What are you seeking to protect?" Savan asked.

"Naught that concerns you!" Ashe spat back before seeking to derail the conversation with a string of vicious punches and tail swipes.

Savan was fixated, "No. I'm sure it does concern me." He persisted in attacking Daimon with mid-level blows, each one targeted at the creature's abdomen. Finally, he hit his mark, as the tip of his blade stabbed in the centre of Daimon's chest, just beneath where his Arisen scar would have once been. The moment the blade nicked the tough skin, a pair of eyes opened either side of the blade and looked at Savan.

"World Steward!" rumbled a familiar, albeit distorted, voice, "Then you've come at last."

"So. 'Tis you after all, Grette. I suspected as much." Savan noted that the head that Ashe had once occupied now slumped, as though it had been robbed of its consciousness. Clearly Grette and Ashe inhabited this same body, but were unable to be 'awake' at the same time.

"At long last we will have our vengeance against you and this cruel cycle. These many ages will finally have meaning." Daimon's body rose up and stood at full height, "These halls will sing with the sounds of your screams, World Steward!"

The amalgamation of Grette and Ashe swung one of its huge fists. At first Savan was ready to dodge the strike, but out of the corner of his eye he saw something immense and ghostly also swinging its way toward him. The ethereal dragon-like claw struck him and knocked him across the hallway, into Daimon's makeshift throne. He landed heavily, the impact made all the harsher for the jagged bones that he fell on top of.

Daimon persisted with its assault by leaping after Savan and landing on the stones behind him. Savan rolled quickly on to his back and barely avoided the grip of a clawed limb. Grette's eyes gazed down at him, "Know the same agony you've meted out for so long, World Steward." This time she scoped him up and hauled him into the air.

At first he sought to teleport out of her grip, but there was a queer magick that hummed around her palm and that same magick was hindering his teleportation abilities. Salde desperately struck at Grette's feet, but the beast was utterly engrossed in her captive. A sickly grin slid over the dragon's maw as she snarled, "Suffer!" her voice was followed by a sudden burst of purple flame. The fire, dark and malevolent, lanced Savan's skin and filled his nerves with long-forgotten anguish. He was suddenly able to recall the immediate sting of pain; such feelings had been replaced by a constant ache that came with being bound to the cycle. Now he was reminded fully of the raw hot agony that he had once experienced as an Arisen. It was almost liberating to feel pain once more.

Grette tossed him to the other side of the hallway, as though he were nothing but a rag doll, then she started to chant a spell. Salde seemed torn between checking on his master and attacking the monster. His confusion was quickly dispelled when Savan shouted, "Press the attack, Salde!"

"Y-Yes master!" the pawn replied, as it climbed on Grette and scaled up to her draconic face. He drove his blade into the dragon's snout and started to gouge at her scales. She recoiled in pain and promptly lost her focus on whatever spell she was incanting.

Savan carefully picked himself up from the ground, his body still throbbed with the after burn of Grette's fire. It was a curious sensation and one that left him feeling more 'alive' than he had felt in an age. In addition to the aching feeling, there was a curious sensation of something tickling down his forehead. He brought a hand up to his temple and found blood on his gauntlet as he inspected it.

"Blood…" he mused as he rubbed his plated thumb over his middle and forefinger, smearing the ichor over the silver surface. It had been an even longer while since he bled and it was incredibly novel to see the liquid after so long. Though, that same novelty was also tinged with an overwhelming revulsion; his blood was no longer 'normal' for it was tinted with a subtle golden sheen. Savan absently wiped his gauntlet on his surcoat and looked towards Grette and Salde.

"Get thee hence, mindless puppet!" Grette bellowed as she tore Salde from her form and threw him with all the might she could muster. This force sent Salde flying through several pillars, each one crumbling and falling, without hindering the pawn's flight through the air.

There was a distinctly wet crunch as Salde hit the wall and fell to the floor. The pawn did not get back up, instead he laid on the floor motionless. Something about the scene left a cold weight in Savan's stomach; the same leaden weight that had formed when the Dragon struck his father several ages ago. A cold fury began to stoke itself in the Seneschals' core, he knew that Salde would survive; he was a pawn after all, but that did not stop him feeling aggrieved by the sight.

As Grette turned to look for Savan, she was met by the Seneschal's steel in her mouth. The dragon groaned in pain and lost her balance, "G-Guuh… damn you!" she spat, blood seeping through her jagged teeth. Savan twisted the blade deeper into her mouth.

"Grette. Whether you wear a warrior's face or a dragon's hide, you'll ne'er defeat me." He pulled the blade back towards himself and cut the dragon's lower jaw clean in half. Grette reared up and screamed in agony, whilst clutching at the parted bone and muscle.

Yet, the Seneschal did not relent; he teleported onto her shoulders and rose his blade high over his head. The silver edge turned golden as he channelled holy magic through it. Then, with a roar he drove it downwards into Daimon's neck.

For a few moments Grette went utterly still, Savan almost wondered if he had killed her with that blow. His wonderings were quickly quashed when flames engulfed the beast's body and knocked him from her back. Grette stood up with a frantic scream of desperation; it was clear that she was enraged and unwilling to admit defeat. Savan rolled along the floor and picked himself up, he glanced behind him and was relieved to see Salde also picking himself up.

That sense of relief was painfully short-lived as a new energy filled the arena. The Seneschal looked back towards Grette and found her hands glowing a strange pale green colour; it was clear that this did not bode well.

"Master!" Salde shouted, "That… bears the feel of the Rift!"

"Aye, though I'd say it's not quite the Rift, either."

"What do you mean?"

"I'd say it's Ashe and Grette's own little Rift, and not somewhere we'd like to be."

"I'd say not!"

The dragon threw her claws to the floor and screamed, "You're end is nigh, World Steward!" a blinding vortex sprung up around Grette, it grew in size and brilliance and soon began to draw various objects into its gaping maw. Savan dug his heels in and resisted the pull of the Rift.

Salde, on the other hand, was pulled ever closer, "M-Master!"

"Damnit, Salde!" Savan hissed and ran after his pawn, he had no idea if he would be able to save his pawn if he were to be sucked into that bastardization of the Rift. Something told him it would be highly unlikely. With that in mind, the World Steward ran after his pawn and grabbed his outstretched hand.

"Master… thank you!"

"Thank me later you oaf!" Savan shouted and threw the pawn towards the other end of the hall, as far away from the vortex as he could possibly be.

"Hahahahaaa!" Grette's laughter quickly alerted Savan to his own situation; he was now in the midst of the vortex, "Now! Disappear, Seneschal! Let the chains fall from around our necks! We will be freed!"

The portal was suffocating, like being dragged downwards into the brooding depths of the ocean. The World Steward fought against the immense pressure that was trying to both pull and push him downwards. Each moment he was surrounded by the vivid light, he felt his own strength being drained from him, it was clear that the only thing keeping him from being consumed was the very energies that the vortex sought to steal from him.

"I'll not give you such satisfaction, Grette." Savan whispered as he hunched his shoulders and closed his eyes tightly. The aura that was ever-present around him started to glow fiercer, it clashed with the energies of the vortex and caused sparks of white and gold to flare from the portal.

Grette groaned in frustration, "Submit! You've lost World Steward!" she focused all of her magic into the vortex, which made it burn with more violent light.

Salde picked himself back up off the floor and looked towards the pillar of green-white light and the monster that was causing it, "Maaaassttterrrr!" he shouted with all of his might.

Whilst the pawn shouted, the vortex exploded with a great surge of holy magic. Grette was knocked away from the vortex, and into a pile of bones, whilst Savan was also cast out of its depths. Salde ran to and quickly pulled his master up to his feet, "Master! You're back!"

"A-Aye…" Savan looked towards Grette's dazed form, "Salde… we must end it."

"But you're exhausted, surely-"

"Salde. We must end it. Now." with a groan of effort, Savan pushed himself away from his pawn and ran towards the dazed dragon. His own vision blurred considerably as he made his way to Grette's hulking form, Salde had been right; he was exhausted, but he could not focus on his own physical limits. Instead, he drove his sword into Grette's skull and buried the blade, to the hit, inside her forehead.

Grette's glowing crimson eyes flashed and suddenly turned glassy, she slumped forward and whispered, "How.. how.. can it be..? How.. can I lose to you?!"

"I already told you, Grette," Savan pulled the blade out of her forehead, causing blood to spray across the stone floor, "You will never defeat me."

"…."

"Well? Have you aught to say?"

"Stop gloating. End it quickly."

"No." Savan's lips curled into a weary grin, "You'll not get off so lightly, Grette. I've a use for you."

"What?!" the Dragon's eyes glared up at Savan, "What arrogance..!"

Savan's boot came down on the dragon's snout and pushed her further to the floor, "I said I've a use for you. You'll do as I say."

"…"

"You are going to provide my successor with quite the ample challenge."

"… What?" the dragon's voice hissed with furious malice, "You think I'll be used by you as another inane test for the Arisen!?"

"You've no choice in the matter. You, and Ashe, are going to push the Arisen to their utter extremities. I want to see how my successor reacts to absolute adversity, to see whether the Arisen can pull themselves back from the precipice of despair. Aye. You'll serve me well with that task, won't you Grette?"

"…. Or suffer what consequence?"

"Oh. There's no choice in this matter, Grette. T'was a rhetorical question." The Seneschal laid a hand on the dragon's forehead, "In this pathetic weak state, it's not as though you can resist my will anyway."

"Damn you…!" Grette tried to struggle, but as Savan had pointed out; her resistance was feeble.

"Your memories of this encounter will merely be a hindrance. I'll let you believe you forged this island to tempt and trap the present Arisen. Your little servant at the port will also be more use without any memories. I think it'll be more endearing if she believes herself to be possessed by some spirit or summat of that ilk."

The dragon fell silent, as though she were hypnotised. Savan smiled, he was pleased with his handiwork.

"Master? What's going on?" Salde approached, gingerly, and looked at the silent dragon, "What of that beast?"

"This island has been conquered, Salde, but that does not mean it lacks purpose. I would like the Arisen to explore it and to unlock its secrets. I think t'will be an enjoyable training ground for my would-be successor."

"Oh… I see!"

"And, after a little restorative sleep, Daimon here will make the perfect guardian…" Savan looked up at the broken roof, "Now, it is far later than I'd of liked. We've much to do and this island needs time to heal. Let us be off, Salde."

"As you wish, Master." Salde nodded and eagerly followed behind the Seneschal as he left the chamber via a side exit.

They returned to the rotting port, which looked in no better condition despite Daimon's defeat. Savan noticed Olra out of the corner of his eye and called to her, "You there, girl, what are you doing here?"

"Oh.. ser… might you be the one I've been searching for?"

"I very much doubt it, lass, what are you searching for?"

"… Well I… I don't quite know it myself. But, I feel as though something calls to me from the depths of this place… and I long to help him…"

Savan smiled slowly, "I'm afraid I'm not the one to help you, but I do know of a warrior who could."

"Oh truly? Might you tell me where I can meet this person?"

"They will surely come to you, if you stand on the pier in the costal town of Cassardis."

"Cassardis… very well, ser, I shall do just that.. thank you."

The World Steward shook his head, "Think nothing of it." he then looked to Salde, "Well, let us be quit of this place."

"Oh… at last!" Salde almost sounded cheerful as he followed his master through a portal which would return them to the familiar gloom of the throne room. Before the pawn stepped through the portal, he looked back at Olra and gave her a smile, "Good luck." He said, before running after his master.

The portal faded and with it all trace of the Seneschal's presence on that isle…

* * *

- Fin -

* * *

…ugh. This was _supposed_ to be one of those 'fun little fic things'. Not a sodding great long ramble of doom!

Oh well, I'm sure there are many grammar / spelling errors, apologies for each and every one of them!

I haven't' forgotten about DD:TD, either, but it's taking me a while to get the next chapter laid out in my head…

If you've managed to read this far; thank you!


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